


Lord, what fools--

by sir_not_appearing_in_this_archive



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sciles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sir_not_appearing_in_this_archive/pseuds/sir_not_appearing_in_this_archive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Deaton told Stiles that what they did would draw supernatural stuff to their town, he imagined monstrous demons and vampires and beasts like the Kanima. What he isn't expecting is waking up one morning in a bed that isn't his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lord, what fools--

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not saying it was fairies but--

 

Fucking Beacon Hills, man. Emphasis on the _Beacon_ part these days. When Deaton told Stiles that what they did would draw supernatural stuff to their town, he imagined monstrous demons and vampires and beasts like the Kanima. What he isn’t expecting is waking up one morning in a bed that isn’t his.

As he’s drawn back to consciousness slowly, from a deep restful sleep, he remembers himself. He remembers going to bed late, or early, depending on your perspective. He remembers only just making it to his own bed before crashing, room strewn with papers and old books and his best friend, who’d just fallen asleep in the desk chair.

Stiles knows something is wrong when he realizes the sheets surrounding him are white, the blanket is white, the pillow is white. The walls of the room are pale yellow and further away than they should be. This is not his room. There is a moment of bright panic before it subsides into an almost tired, “Oh great, what now?” feeling that’s too familiar, far more familiar than it should be for someone his age. He’s taken to expecting disaster at every turn, and he’s rarely disappointed.

The room isn’t one he’s ever been in, to his knowledge. It isn’t Scott’s room, or Scott’s mom’s room. Stiles sits up slowly and glances around, taking in detail. His surroundings are spacious, with open French doors leading to a balcony. Curtains frame the door, white and sheer, and they billow in the salt-scented breeze. Past the balcony he can see the ocean, and when his breathing calms a little he can even hear it.

Beacon Hills is not adjacent to the ocean. Stiles, knowing this, wonders how he could possibly be adjacent to the ocean, then he wonders if it’s even the Pacific. That line of thinking can only lead one place, and he decides to worry about it later. He has bigger problems, like who the hell brought him here and why. People rarely kidnap for benevolent reasons.

A lump in the covers beside him lets out a low moan, and instead of being afraid and panicky all over again, a very different emotion runs through him, at odds with his current situation. He’s a teenager, so it’s not like random boners are unheard of, but this is more than that. This isn’t something he can ignore until it goes away. His whole body has been pulled down into it—whatever it is, he isn’t sure. Words like _lust_ and _arousal_ seem so tame.

The feeling has hit him so suddenly that before the person under the sheets begins to stir he is considering leaving the room to go take care of himself. Probably more than once. But before he can crawl to the edge of the bed, Scott’s head appears above the blanket.

“Scott?” Something between relief and horror distracts him from the other thing. He’s not sure if he’s happy that his best friend is here with him. Having a werewolf around to beat people up is handy, but if things are about to go south, he doesn’t want Scott to suffer, too.

There’s also the fact that he has to clear his throat and concentrate in order to speak normally, because his pulse is a little high, and not from fear. He tries unsuccessfully to get a hold of himself. He shifts because his pants are becoming uncomfortable.

“Where are we?” Scott whispers, sitting up.

Stiles hops out of bed and walks to the door. “I intend to find out.” He’s moving just to be doing something, hoping it will help the increasingly hard-to-ignore desire that rushes through him. He opens the white door and boldly steps through.

He’s standing in the yellow room again, this time facing Scott and the bed. Not really sure what happened, he turns around. Outside the door is absolute darkness. Impossible darkness. When he’d walked through he’d thought it was just an unlit hallway.

“What the hell?” he breathes.

“Great,” Scott says. “Are we trapped?” A pause. “Is there a bathroom?”

“Just piss off the balcony,” Stiles dismisses, staring at the pitch black substance. Looking at it makes him feel strange, so at last he decides to shut the door.

Scott looks a little embarrassed. “Uh, that’s not the problem.” Something about the way he says it, the way his eyes flicker down, makes Stiles understand.

“You too? Oh my god, do you think we’ve been drugged?” Stiles is pacing now, but it doesn’t help.

“Do you feel drugged?”

This makes Stiles stop moving, for a moment. He assesses his cognitive state. Same old, same old, except he’s not normally this uncontrollably aroused. Not without a reason, at least. Other than a slight lack of blood flow to the brain, he feels normal.

“No,” Stiles allows after a moment. “But this isn’t the appropriate response to the situation.” He starts moving again.

Scott gets up and strides to the door. After a few seconds of looking at the darkness, he shuts the door and leans against it. Stiles doesn’t notice the curve of Scott’s neck and the rise and fall of his chest. Of course he doesn’t notice. This is Scott, after all, and that would be weird. He’s not ogling him, and it certainly isn’t making his erection worse.

“Maybe we can leave this way,” Stiles  points towards the open doors to the balcony, then walks outside. The breeze is perfect, cool and soft, threading through his hair like gentle fingers. Shivers run up his spine. He swallows slowly and looks down.

The ocean is several hundred feet below, crashing against a cliff face. He can see sharp rocks that jut out of the foamy water. Jumping is out of the question, even for a werewolf.

Stiles feels Scott standing behind him, suddenly, and he almost starts.  The balcony is not very wide, and Stiles swears his friend is standing close enough that he can feel body heat radiating from him.

Slipping back into the room, Stiles decides to sit on the bed and wait for whoever brought them here to show him- or herself. He cradles his head in his hands and tries to calculate just how big of a creep he’s been by feeling inappropriate things for his best friend.

In the rare times that he isn’t trying to solve mysteries and save lives, Stiles has moments of introspection, and he’s been thinking of himself as bi-curious for a while, now. Labels seem silly for someone who’s never even had sex, but he knows he is attracted to women. In his usual fashion, he did research into the question of whether or not he was bi. He jacked off to gay porn a few times and decided that yeah, he was. Then he did more research on the specifics.

But in the end, he’s only a well informed virgin. And just because Scott has an amazing body (All those damn werewolves were ripped. Even Derek was attractive, if you duct-taped his mouth shut, maybe.) doesn’t mean Stiles gets to stare at it and _desire_ it.

Scott comes back inside, frowning, thinking.  Stiles glances up at him, noticing how ruffled his hair is from sleep and how the line between his brows appears when he’s trying to figure out how to keep people alive. _I’m such a creep_ , Stiles thinks harshly, _can’t even keep it in my pants when we’re in serious trouble._

It’s not like he’s in the habit of fantasizing about his friends or anything. Sure, he’s made jokes with Scott before, and while he was vaguely curious to know what it was like to kiss another man, he hasn't daydreamed about Scott. Even when Lydia had kissed him, that one time, he hadn’t even paid enough attention to really _notice_ it.

And now suddenly he wants to rip Scott’s shirt off and run his hands over his stupid perfect washboard abs, goddammit, and why the fuck did he even buy skinny jeans, what the hell was he thinking? His erection was pressing against the fabric almost painfully now.

Scott turns to him, a strange expression in his warm eyes. He sits on the bed, a few feet from Stiles. “I don’t know what to do.” His voice is strained. Stiles guesses he’s going through something similar, though he probably isn’t having pervy thoughts about Stiles.

He doesn’t trust himself to speak, so Stiles remains silent. He has nothing relevant to say, anyway, and the silence between them isn’t awkward. It’s never been awkward.

“Whatever this is,” Scott murmurs, almost too low for Stiles to hear, “it isn’t going away.” Stiles knows he doesn’t mean the strange room or the ocean or the blackness outside the door. Somehow all those things don’t matter, not when compared to the need inside him, the hunger.

He hates the feeling of losing control of his body; sometimes he thinks that’s all he has control over, anymore. But at the same time he wants to give in, maybe just a little, maybe just touch Scott’s shoulder—

A hand brushes his hair and sends electric spikes of pleasure through him. Stiles glances over to see Scott drawing a small broken piece of leaf away. “This was in your hair. Uh.” Scott stops talking.

God, his _eyes_. His lips, his hair, even the asymmetry of his jaw-line. Stiles notices how dilated Scott’s pupils are but only in a distant way. Most of him is either screaming that he’s sick, sick, sick, or that he should just lean forward, close the gap between them and fuck the consequences.

Scott moves towards him almost imperceptibly, then stops, and his eyes turn red. At first Stiles is afraid and thinks that Scott is wolfing out, but then he realizes the truth. Scott is using every ounce of his strength to keep still, to fight whatever it is that’s making them act like—well, stereotypical sex-crazed teenagers.

He feels like his hand is moving on its own, but really he’s just breaking first, giving in, and he touches Scott’s cheek softly. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I—I mean, if you want. If you’re even—” Stiles chokes on the word.

Scott smiles and it’s ripping him apart to see that genuine and gentle expression on his best friend. “I’ve—uh—experimented? A little, with Isaac. We got drunk and oh my god, I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.” He’s laughing and the sound of it makes Stiles close his eyes and take a shuddering breath.

“I won’t mention it.” And that’s all he has time to say before Scott leans forward and they’re kissing and it’s not at all what he expected.

The kiss is light at first, hesitant but not awkward, not in the least. The part of him that was shrieking that he was being an idiot is gone now, silenced. All that’s left is the thrumming litany of _oh god yes_ and his hands can’t stay off Scott and he’s running them over his shirt, then under it, but with trepidation, because part of him is still waiting for Scott to jerk away and shake his head and tell him no, this was too weird, despite that Stiles has never felt more at ease even though he’s about to vibrate out of his skin.

Scott does lean back and Stiles almost groans because it’s like something’s been ripped from him, but he lets him go and snaps his hands back beside him.

“Are you sure?” Scott asks, voice serious and rougher than normal.

“Yes,” Stiles says without having to think, “Holy fuck, yes.”

His best friend is smiling again and this time it’s with an undercurrent of lust and Stiles can’t stop the moan that’s in his throat as their lips meet again. Now Stiles lets his hands move under Scott’s shirt and _oh my god_ his muscles what a jerk with his perfect abs and soft skin. Stiles wants to rip the shirt off so he can see and touch and lick and he’s seriously considering it when Scott pulls away from their kiss again—which was becoming something deeper, more desperate—and quickly pulls the t-shirt over his head and throws it somewhere else in the room; neither of them bother to look.

Stiles knows his lips are parted and he’s gaping but he can’t stop, which is ridiculous because he’s seen Scott topless a million times but now he’s really _seeing_ him, seeing the curve of his collar bone and the way his tan skin is so smooth over his perfect muscles, seeing how he looks like something carved out of stone in the likeness of a Greek god. He realizes Scott is watching him stare and he feels his cheeks turn red.

Groaning and lifting his face to the ceiling, he closes his eyes. “Sorry—I—”

Scott rubs his thumb over Stiles’s lower lip. “It’s okay.” Scott’s hand moves down over Stiles’s neck and he’s not even ashamed of the noise he makes, half moan half whimper.

The werewolf leans forward and kisses the hollow of his shoulder, pulling down at Stiles’s shirt collar. His movements are so gentle and restrained and it drives Stiles mad. “Don’t hold back,” he gasps, running a hand through Scott’s hair and gripping it as Scott bites him a little.

Stiles hears ripping and doesn’t even care that Scott’s tearing his shirt off, in fact he finds it really fucking hot, and he didn’t like the shirt anyway. It gets caught around his arms and suddenly it’s like he’s handcuffed or tied up and Scott holds his bound wrists with one hand and uses the other to unzip his jeans, thank god, because they are really too small to have an erection in and now they’re slipping down his hips because Scott is tugging them and then his cock is in Scott’s hand and he really understands why people generally prefer sex to masturbation because _fuck_.

“Fuck,” he manages before Scott’s breath on his neck and the motion of his hand is too much and he’s coming and it’s the most intense orgasm he’s ever had and his nails are digging into his own palms, still bound behind his back, and he doesn’t care. He cries Scott’s name and it feels like it belongs on his tongue. He leans against Scott’s shoulder and pants. The hunger’s less now, but it isn’t gone. He doesn’t even care anymore.

Scott lets go of his wrists, and Stiles shakes the torn cloth loose and grabs him by the shoulders, pushing him back onto the bed. Drops of come are spattered over his dark skin and Stiles has never seen anything quite as beautiful as that, and he doesn’t even bother to let Scott clean up because it’s obvious neither of them care, anyway, and Scott must be miserable in his jeans still, so Stiles unzips them and helps him out of them.

Naked Scott is really fantastic and Stiles runs his hands all over him as he pushes him back down onto the bed and puts his head between his legs. He’s never given a blowjob before, but he knows the theory and he knows that Scott won’t make fun of him. He trusts his friend completely.

Making Scott McCall writhe under him is almost as fun as coming all over him, and he’s hard again by the time they’re making eye contact and then Scott finishes and he says Stiles’s name like he’ll never stop and Stiles doesn’t want him to, ever. Scott watches him swallow and Stiles gives him a crooked smile and then Scott is on top of him, suddenly, kissing him like it’s the apocalypse.

Somehow they find their way outside and Scott pushes him against the balcony railing and gets on his knees. Stiles holds onto the wooden rails and doesn’t worry about falling because he knows Scott will catch him. Scott’s hands are on his hips and for a long while he doesn’t worry about anything.

Time passes but they don’t know how much and they don’t care. They fool around for hours and don’t bother thinking about why they’re there; they only talk about what they want and what they need and sometimes they’re just lying next to each other laughing and gasping for breath.

Stiles drifts off to sleep next to his best friend, both of them unabashedly naked and covered in a sheen of sweat and there’s claw marks on the white blanket and then something startles him and he’s wide awake.

The owl that woke him hoots again, and he realizes he’s lying on the ground in the woods. His clothes are neatly folded beside him, his shirt untorn and whole, and he’s so disoriented it takes him time to realize he’s naked. Scott is a foot away in a similar state, but he’s taking longer to wake up.

It’s also the dead of night. The only light source is the gibbous moon, the stars, and the headlights of his Jeep, which is idling nearby. They stare at each other for a long moment, then Stiles decides they should probably put on their clothes before someone comes along and sees them.

He dresses quickly but it’s not because Scott’s there. He can’t remember how they got in the woods, but the time in that strange room is sharp and clear in his mind, even if it makes no sense. He’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for whoever kidnapped them to show up and demand something from them.

Stiles glances at Scott and feels a stir of desire, but it’s his own entirely, not like whatever had hold of them before. He hopes Scott isn’t ashamed now that they’re free of the spell—it probably was a literal spell, too, the way things go around here.

“So,” he begins, “are we gonna talk about what happened?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Stiles’s heart sinks because he assumes Scott means that they’ll sweep that under the rug and pretend it never happened, but his friend keeps talking, “We fucked around, we enjoyed it. I’m open to the possibility of more in the future.”

They’re hurrying to the Jeep now, by unspoken agreement to get the hell out of Dodge. “Like friends with benefits?” Stiles clarifies, afraid to be hopeful, but he wants Scott again.

Scott smiles at him and it’s so disarming Stiles almost trips over a fallen branch. “Yeah,” Scott laughs, grabbing Stiles’s arm to steady him. “Exactly. If you want.”

“I definitely want.” He pulls open the driver’s side door and climbs into the Jeep.

The headlights fade and disappear as they drive away, back to Stiles’s house, where they will discover almost no time has passed since they fell asleep in his room. In the wooded clearing an owl hoots again, then flies away on silent wings.

**Author's Note:**

> \--it was fairies
> 
> Much thanks to [Tara](http://rosemaries.tumblr.com/) for betaing and general awesomeness and encouragement!


End file.
